


take all your pain (and set it free)

by shessolovely



Category: Moral Orel
Genre: F/M, Featuring Clay Puppington and Art Posabule’s A+ Parenting, Future Fic, My First Work in This Fandom, TW: Mentions of abuse, featuring Orel and Christina’s family!!, pure fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shessolovely/pseuds/shessolovely
Summary: When he was finally old enough, Orel Puppington packed up and left Moralton.When Christina Posabule was finally old enough, she packed up and left Saintsville.It seemed fitting that fate, destiny, whatever you choose to call it, made them stumble across each other one day at the university they attended.





	take all your pain (and set it free)

**Author's Note:**

> there is a disturbing lack of fanfic for Moral Orel, and a disturbing lack of support for Moral Orel in general. it was such an amazing cartoon (and it was stop motion! i have such respect for people who work on stop motion animation) 
> 
> Orel and Christina are such a pure couple and I thought it’d be cute to whip up an even happier ending for them (with a little angst thrown in, of course)

When he was finally old enough, Orel Puppington packed up and left Moralton.

 

_Maybe being nice here in Moralton feels..._

 

_dirty_

 

He left his ~~distant~~ mother behind. He left his ~~illegitimate~~ brothers behind. He left his ~~abusive, self destructive, self obsessed-~~

 

When Orel Puppington was finally old enough, he left Moralton.

 

Ironically, when Christina Posabule was finally old enough, she packed up and left Saintsville. Leaving behind her ~~equally distant~~ mother and her ~~equally self centered and abusive~~ father, who never seemed to notice nor care enough that one of their children was missing.

 

It seemed fitting that fate, destiny, whatever they chose to call it made them stumble across each other one day at the university they attended.

 

Christina felt pain stinging her knee as she crumpled to the pavement on the university quad, bag slipping off her shoulder and landing unceremoniously next to her. “Ow!” She cried, grasping her knee tightly. Slowly removing her hand, she inspected the damage. It was an agitated looking pink, and her modest black pants ~~need to cover up need to cover it all~~ were ripped, but other than that, it wasn’t too bad.

 

“Gosh!” A voice exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to bump into you! Are you all right?”

 

“I- I think so,” replied Christina. “Nothing I can’t stitch up.”

 

“Stitch?” The voice asked worriedly. “You’re not bleeding, are you?”

 

“No, I’m-“ Christina looked up, and she squinted in the sunlight. “Orel?”

 

The man who bumped into her blinked. “Christina?”

 

She smiled warmly, and Orel’s face broke into a grin. Christina felt her stomach flip as he offered her his hand. Shouldering her bag, she grasped it lightly and felt her cheeks burn, secretly pleased as she watched his cheeks turn a light shade of pink as well.

 

“How are you? How has everything been?” Christina asked, torn pant leg forgotten as she took him in. She hadn’t seen him in the longest time, and he had definitely changed. When he had once been thin and somewhat scrawny looking with round cheeks, now were broad shoulders and a thinner, handsome face. His jaw wasn’t chiseled and she wasn’t sure he could ever look as brooding as those men in the magazines her roommate read, but he was still handsome nonetheless. Husband material, her roommate would tease. Christina felt her cheeks redden even more as she suddenly fussed over whether or not she looked pretty enough-

 

_“You’re being impure”, her mother’s voice reprimanded her. “Men don’t marry women whose minds and bodies belong to Satan.”_

 

_“Vanity is a sin,” her father’s voice boomed. “Girls don’t make efforts to look pretty. Those who do are whores.”_

 

“-been taking classes in law. I might be interested in going to law school someday!”

 

Christina forced a smile. “Gosh, that sounds amazing, Orel. You’d be a good lawyer. Helping those who need it.”

 

Orel’s smile faltered for a second. “Well, hearing about all those people who die unjustly... it’s not right.”

 

_The world is not as kind and good as it seems._

 

“No,” Christina agreed. “It’s not.”

 

“What about you Christina? What are you studying here?”

 

Christina bashfully looked away, watching a woman play with her dog on the grass. “Well... I haven’t decided yet. B-But I think education would be a good fit for me.”

 

Orel beamed at her. How did he manage it? His smile could rival the sun’s, she was sure. “I think that’s great! You’d be a wonderful teacher.”

 

Her eyes widened. Her parents had been thrilled when she announced to them she wanted to be a teacher, but their disapproval radiated off of them in waves when she clarified she wasn’t planning on staying in Statesota.

 

~~I have to get out I have to leave I can’t stay there-~~

 

They walked in comfortable silence for a minute or two, soaking in the sunshine. Christina looked down and noticed him limping. Concern flooded her mind in waves. That hadn’t been there before-

 

“Say, Christina.” Orel sounded nervous. She froze, wondering what came next.

 

“There’s a mass this Sunday at a church near here...” He continued, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at her. “I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”

 

Christina’s heart soared.

 

“I’d love to.”

 

* * *

 

When Orel Puppington was old enough, he married his childhood sweetheart and bought them a house in Iowa, far enough from Moralton and Saintsville but close enough to Statesota that they could drive to visit their parents ~~if they could stomach it.~~ His parents disapproved, with Clay grumbling about her being the wrong kind of Protestant and his mother scrubbing the dishes harder than usual when he brought her home from dinner. Shapey and Block were supportive, but didn’t dare say anything in front of Clay.

 

But it didn’t matter. Orel loved Christina, and Christina loved him, and that’s all that mattered.

 

They confided in each other, Orel telling her about Clay’s failed hunting trip all those years ago that caused his permanent limp, and Christina telling him about Art’s abuse, how he had done things, unforgivable things, things too terrible to name. Orel’s blood had boiled, but he reminded himself that judgement would come to Art in due time. For Clay, too. Forgiveness wasn’t easy, and they were both still working on forgiving their parents, but that didn’t matter either. All that mattered was _her._

 

Two years later, Christina Puppington gave birth to a baby boy. And Orel Puppington cried.

 

Cradling his son to his chest, Orel listened to his ear splitting cries and wondered how it was possible to have so much _love_ for one tiny creature.

 

_Thank you God, for bringing him to me._

 

 _Please God. Help me. Let me be better. Show me how to be better than_ him _._

 

Christina weakly reached out, and Orel carefully sat down behind his wife, placing their son into her arms. She let out a half sob, pressing her back to his chest, and Orel wrapped an arm around his wife. _His_ _family_.

 

“What do we name him?” Orel asked.

 

Christina looked up at him, a smile forming on her lips. “I’ve always liked Arthur.”

 

Orel’s breath caught in his lungs. “Are- Are you sure?” He stammered. “It doesn’t have to be that, if- if you don’t want it to be-“

 

“Orel,” Christina interrupted, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. “You loved him. He meant a lot to you.” She looked lovingly down at her son. “Just like this little one means a lot to us.”

 

Orel’s vision blurred, and he blinked, feeling tears drip onto his sleeve. “Arthur.”

 

“Arthur James,” Christina murmured. “You’re so _loved_.”

 

Arthur fussed, and Christina lightly kissed his tiny forehead. Orel could have sworn the boy _smiled_. His heart swelled. Turning Christina’s chin to him, he pressed a kiss to her lips, feeling her smile against him.

 

“God’s gift to us,” Orel quietly announced. “A chance to be better.”

 

“A chance to be better,” Christina agreed.

 

* * *

 

“What did you say you named him?” Clay’s back was turned to his son, shoulders taut with anger. Once upon a time, that would have made Orel nervous, afraid even. He would have gulped and dragged his feet to his father’s study, head hanging low as he waited for the beating that was sure to come.

 

Now, he was just _irritated_. Even Bloberta’s scrubbing from Orel’s and Christina’s kitchen had slowed down as she eavesdropped.

 

“We named him Arthur,” Orel repeated cheerily. “Arthur James Puppington. The sec-“

 

“The _second_ , yeah, I got that part,” Clay snapped, turning on his heel, whiskey glass tightly held in his hand. Behind Orel, Christina shifted uncomfortably, holding the baby. Clay ran a hand through his greying hair. “I suppose some good could possibly come from this. There’s still the Puppington hunting trip. We’ll come back, and I’ll hand over Ol’ Gunny to you soon, if you want-“

 

“Actually,” Orel interrupted. “I’m not doing that.”

 

Clay’s voice was uncharacteristically calm. “ _What_.”

 

“I’m not subjecting my son to murder.”

 

Clay rounded on Orel, voice thundering through the living room. “Murder? It’s hunting.”

 

“I’m not going to kill anything in front of my son,” Orel replied forcefully.

 

Clay laughed mockingly, and for a second Orel was twelve years old again, waiting for his father to pull off his belt in his study. “I did with you!” Clay boomed. “But of course you couldn’t take it. Always so sensitive. The hunting trip-“

 

_I got shot... by you._

 

“Didn’t end well?” Orel guessed bitterly, gesturing at his bad leg. Christina placed a hand on his shoulder, and Clay quieted, swirling the whiskey in his glass. Arthur, seeming to sense the tension in the room, began to cry. Clay glared at his grandson, and Christina scowled back, rocking the child in her arms.

 

Orel sighed. “If it means anything to you, I forgive you.”

 

_I hate you._

 

Clay looked taken aback, and even Bloberta stood in the doorway to the kitchen, silently watching.

 

“Why- Why would it mean anything to me?” Clay protested weakly.

 

_Hate away._

 

Orel shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s for you to figure out. But-“ He hesitated. “I want you both to be in Arthur’s life.”

 

“We go back to Moralton in the morning, dear,” Bloberta’s voice was loud, far too loud for the tense quiet in the living room, even with Arthur’s whimpers. Orel couldn’t tear his gaze off of his father. Clay’s face expressed something he had never seen before. Not fear. Not confusion.

 

 _Vulnerability_.

 

“That’s fine, Mom.” Orel finally turned away from Clay. Reaching out, Christina placed Arthur in his arms, and he offered her a tired smile. “It’s getting late,” he announced, kissing her cheek. “I’ll put Arthur to bed.”

 

“Orel.” Orel looked at his father, still in shock, glass still held in his hand so tightly Orel worried it might shatter. “I’m- It- It was an accident,” he stuttered lamely.

 

Orel stared at Clay from halfway up the stairs, words stuck in his throat as he held his son tighter to his chest. He offered his father a tight, forced smile.

 

“There are no accidents.”

 

Clay’s grip on his glass slackened as Orel carried Arthur to his crib.

**Author's Note:**

> psst! hey! check out my other works! I’ll try to post on Wednesdays from now on! {and your birthday, if you tell me when that is}
> 
> have a great day!


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